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Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Crescent Heir : Kabanata 1 - Kabanata 10

74 Kabanata

The Weight Of Betrayal

The silver chains, not designed for comfort, bit deep into Anna Wilson's wrists, leaving angry red welts against her pale skin. The chill radiating from the stone floor of the dungeon seeped into her bones, a constant, physical echo of the spiritual ice that had encased her heart for weeks. Above her, Deimon Ashworth, Alpha of the Ashworth clan and her former mate, stood like a colossus, his immaculately tailored suit an unsettling contrast to the primal fury twisting his handsome features. His eyes, once filled with love and compassion, now radiated hate and despise. Anna had never seen her beloved in such a state, burning with hatred and malice. The man she'd trusted with her soul had become her executioner."You carry a stranger's pup," Deimon snarled, his voice a low, guttural rasp that seemed to vibrate through the very foundations of the sprawling, opulent Silverwood mansion. Each word dripped with venom, laced with betrayal that cut deeper than any blade.The Ashworth Empire,

The Blood-moon Scion

Deimon slammed his fist on the table, making the silverware rattle. The meatball turned to ash in his mouth as he forced himself to swallow. The evening brought no solace—only the gnawing ache of betrayal and the weight of decisions yet to come. After his turn in the cellar with his treacherous mate, Deimon settled with his inner circle for the Blood-moon Rite, the sacred pack supper reserved for those who bore the burden of leadership. Seven chairs surrounded the ancient oak table. Seven, as tradition demanded: the Alpha, his Luna, his Beta, his Elders, and his Diviner. Tonight, the Luna's seat was empty. Six wolves sat in uneasy silence, their eyes flickering between each other as Deimon wrestled with his rage. The candles guttered in their silver holders, casting dancing shadows across the feast that none of them truly tasted. This was meant to be a celebration—the Blood-moon Rite marked the unity of pack leadership, the sacred bond between those who guided the clan. Instead, it

What The Diviner Saw

Seraphina was daydreaming in the middle of a Blood-moon feast. To her, it felt like a trance. Her breath labored, catching in her throat like claws scraping bone, but she concealed this within herself. The gift demanded silence. It always did. In the blink of an eye, the vision vanished, and she came to her normal self, gasping quietly as the great hall reformed around her.Seraphina had seen a lot of things in her years as the pack's Diviner. Most horrifying, most grueling visions that would break lesser minds—she saw and interpreted them without a sliver of emotion in her tongue. It was the price of her gift, the sacred burden: not to act upon emotions or empathy, only to speak when the spirits commanded. But this particular vision had her on edge, trembling like prey.As the blood feast concluded, Deimon retired to his manor, each scion member scattering to their various destinations like wolves returning to their dens. Cold dread washed upon Seraphina—it was unlike her, she who ha

The Purification

--- Deimon submerged himself in the Blood-Moon bath, an ancient family Jacuzzi reserved for cleansing before the crimson rituals. The water shimmered with crushed moonflowers and sacred oils, their scent thick and intoxicating. Steam rose in ghostly spirals, carrying with it the weight of centuries-old tradition. This wasn't merely a bath—it was a rite passed down through generations of Ashworth Alphas, each one purifying themselves before ascending to greater power. Around him, young omega maidens moved like shadows, their hands skilled in the old ways of purification. They scrubbed every inch of his muscular frame with imported oils that cost more than most wolves earned in a year, washing away not just dirt, but the spiritual residue of treacherous mates and broken bonds. The ritual demanded complete cleansing—body, mind, and soul. Their soft caresses worked methodically across his skin, and Deimon felt his mind drift into that space between consciousness and meditation. The ritu

The High Priestess's Approval

--- The acrid scent of burning incense coiled through the air as Deimon settled himself upon the ancient stone altar. Wisps of sacred smoke drifted upward, painting ghostly patterns against the vaulted ceiling of the Blood-Moon sanctuary. He crossed one leg over the other with deliberate arrogance, his posture declaring ownership of a space that should have commanded reverence. "Madam Selene," he drawled, examining his manicured nails with feigned disinterest. "Long time no see. How's work been treating you?" The high priestess hadn't yet emerged from the shadows that clung to the altar's edges like cobwebs. Deimon had come seeking her blessing—one of the final requirements before tomorrow's Crimson Ceremony, where he would be formally recognized as Alpha and undisputed head of the Ashworth clan. The ritual was ancient, carved into werewolf tradition centuries before his grandfather's grandfather had drawn breath. And Madam Selene was the gatekeeper, one of the godheads of the

Where The Earth Meets The Sky

The tunnel terminated in darkness and desperation.Anna stared upward at the exit latch, her chest heaving with exertion. Ten feet above her head, maybe more. The vertical shaft mocked her exhaustion, but the faint scent of open air beyond gave her hope—her first real hope in days. Soon they'll discover her absence,and give chase . She had no time to find stairs, no time to climb carefully, not if a bloodhound is on her trail . The nascent power of her wolf still flickered beneath her skin, incomplete and unreliable, but it was all she had.Anna crouched, gathering what remained of her strength, and launched herself upward with everything she had. Her body sailed through the darkness, and she kicked the steel latch with both feet, putting every ounce of desperate force behind the blow.The metal shrieked. Pain exploded through her legs like lightning striking bone. The latch gave way with a tortured groan, and she crashed through into the world above, biting back a scream as she land

Blood And Betrayal

__ By noon, the Silverwood estate writhed with activity. Banners snapped in the bitter wind, each printed with the sigils of clans whose names are centuries old. It was the special day of the Crimson Ceremony, when the Blood-moon shines the brightest. Deimon sat enthroned in his manor's council room, conducting what he'd labeled a "casual meeting" with his Blood-Moon Scion. Casual, as if anything involving werewolf politics could be casual. As tradition demanded, the Scion appeared in ceremonial attire—ancient furs and woven silver threads . Deimon, naturally, was an exception. He despised the old ways the way fire despises rain. Silver suit, hand-tailored, a cigar smoldering at the corner of his mouth like a fuse waiting for ignition. "Absolutely not, Uncle Dubois." Deimon's voice cut through the festive chatter like a blade through silk. "You're not going to be my chief advisor." Dubois smiled—that infuriating, knowing smile that had needled Deimon since childhood. "It would

The Blood-moon Ascension

--- 10:45 PM The ancient clock on Deimon's chamber wall ticked toward midnight, each second echoing like a death knell. Everything was in position. Below, the entire Crescent clan marched through snow-laden paths toward Ascension Hills, their breaths forming ghostly plumes in the cold air. The procession moved in eerie silence, thousands of footsteps crunching through ice and snow. Above, the Blood-Moon claimed its throne at the center of the sky, bathing the world in crimson light that made the snow look like spilled blood. Distant howls pierced the darkness—primal calls that made the air vibrate with raw power, sending shivers down the spines of even the most seasoned warriors. This was no celebration. This was ancient ceremony, carried out in shadows and silence. No drums, no music. Just power, tradition, and transformation. Deimon exhaled as the clan women applied sacred markings to his bare chest—ash mixed with wolfsbane extract, forming symbols older than memory. The p

Anna Wakes

"You carry the pup of a stranger.""Was it an Alpha, a beta, a stray, or a human?""You whore of a Luna.""You're my greatest heartbreak."The words circled through her mind like vultures over a carcass, relentless and sharp. They echoed in an endless loop, growing louder with each repetition until she forced her eyes open. The accusations faded, replaced by the steady beeping of an EKG machine.Anna blinked against the harsh fluorescent light. "Where am I? How am I still breathing?" The questions tumbled through her foggy thoughts. By the sterile smell and the rhythmic hum of medical equipment, she was in a hospital. But that didn't make sense. She'd felt death creeping through her veins, seen the edges of her vision blur into darkness. Someone must have found her—but who? An angel? Or something far worse... Deimon.At least she wasn't chained in some forgotten dungeon, small mercies. She glanced down at her left arm, an IV line snaking into her vein. The pain that had consumed her

The Mooncrest Estate

"Your vitals are stable, and the accelerated healing is remarkable—even for our kind." The pack medic adjusted her stethoscope, making a final notation on Anna's chart. "You're cleared for discharge, madam.""Thank you, Healer." Anna's fingers absently traced the edge of the sterile white sheets, her wolf stirring restlessly beneath her skin after days of confinement.The medic gathered her supplies with practiced efficiency. Anna watched the antiseptic-scented ward empty around her, the beep of monitors fading as the door clicked shut. She was alone with her thoughts—and the thousand questions burning through her mind."I need to figure out where I am. Sitting here won't give me answers."Anna stood, rolling her shoulders to ease the stiffness. She'd been scrolling mindlessly through a tablet for the past hour, anything to quiet her racing thoughts. A flutter rippled across her belly—sharper than before, more insistent.Her breath caught. "Was that...?"She pressed her palm aga

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